


A Complete Education

by Andante825



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fluff and Humor, Multi, Not Canon Compliant, Sex Education, Sexual Humor, a bit of fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-12
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 13:25:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12705891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andante825/pseuds/Andante825
Summary: After a thirty-year absence, sex ed is once again part of the Hogwarts curriculum after two student couples report unplanned pregnancies. Any teacher can handle a seven-week seminar, especially with a five-hundred-Galleon incentive - right?Hermione's questions (and one boycott), Dumbledore's staffing woes, Trelawney's tea leaves, Flitwick's hospital bed and a matchmaking Oedipal Boggart suggest otherwise.





	A Complete Education

**Author's Note:**

> A belated note that this plot bunny sprang from a fic by the redoubtable BrilliantLady, specifically a brief conversation between Hermione and Draco, who wonder which instructor could possibly pull off teaching sex ed at Hogwarts (with Sprout mentioned as the most likely yet still disturbing option). The convo can be found in Chapter 8 of "Her Beauty and the Moonlight," the second part of a bittersweet, highly original series. She's a terrific author and not to be missed!

“If there are no further issues at hand,” Dumbledore said, winding down a meeting that represented the last stumbling block between the Hogwarts staff and sweet freedom, “I declare the winter holiday officially –”

“I have a couple of issues at hand,” interrupted Madame Pomfrey, standing up.

She was not a tall woman, but she had a nurse’s gift for intimidation. Even Severus Snape stayed put, although his black eyes darted toward the door.

“As the Headmaster knows, but the rest of you may not,” Pomfrey said, “I met with four sets of parents this afternoon to discuss their forthcoming grandchildren. A seventh-year Slytherin and a fifth-year Ravenclaw are expecting, and their partners are in Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, respectively.”

The uproar was instantaneous, with Flitwick demanding names and Snape demanding to know why this was his concern, given that his Slytherin was of age.

“It’s very much your concern, Severus, as well as Minerva’s. The seventh-year Slytherin happens to be Pansy Parkinson, and her hapless partner is Ronald Weasley.”

The din continued for nearly two full minutes before Dumbledore stood.

“Thank you, Headmaster,” Poppy said into the sudden silence. “Now, the fifth-year student, Miss Eleonora Huxley, has reached the age of consent in Great Britain, so no illegality has occurred. Her partner is … erm … the Smith boy.”

“I’ll hex his bits off,” Flitwick snarled, and Pomona Sprout sniffed.

“It takes two to tango, my dear Filius,” she said. “Not that I care for Smith, mind you. Self-important little squit. No surprise he couldn’t keep it in his robes.”

Snape leaned forward. “You have confirmed, Madame Pomfrey, that all of these happenings are consensual?”

“I have,” she said firmly. “The problem is one of knowledge. Headmaster, I must insist – I must absolutely insist – that we finally put in place a comprehensive sex education class.”

No one spoke. Snape and Hagrid both attempted to camouflage themselves, without noticeable success. Binns coughed.

“Arrgh-hem, if I may,” he said. “I seem to recall that I taught something like this perhaps thirty years ago. The Summer of Love, I believe they were calling it. Yes, indeed.” He smacked his spectral lips, a dry and chilling sort of sound. “Sheath Charms on bananas, that sort of thing.”

“Why don’t we specify living teachers only?” proposed Minerva McGonagall. “I feel Professor Binns has enough to concern himself with already.”

“Hear, hear,” Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling. “Well, my dear Poppy, I feel that since Miss Parkinson and Miss Huxley’s conditions will be quite evident upon the students’ return in January, we should make our plans sooner than later. Teachers, with the exception of Professor Binns, do I have a volunteer?”

No single member of the faculty being exceptionally stupid (and with no new and naïve hires this year – Remus Lupin was serving once again as Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor, but the meeting fell on a full-moon night, and so he was not present), no one stepped forward. Once a volunteer, always a volunteer, was the unofficial Hogwarts staff motto. The official version was “Never volunteer.”

“Perhaps Remus would be interested,” Professor Sprout offered, with unusual cunning. “He does love shaping young minds, and the students adore him.”

“And he’s the youngest, along with Severus here,” Hagrid agreed. 

“Perhaps a team-taught –”

“Not another word, Headmaster. Nunquam voluntarias.”

“Very well, Severus,” Dumbledore said, twinkling away. “Whom would you suggest?”

“I nominate Pomona,” he said without hesitation. “Who better?”

“You do have a way with living things,” McGonagall said, throwing in with Snape. “And the students respect you, my dear. They would listen to you, where they might ignore someone like –” She struggled not to glance toward Trelawney, half-dozing by the fireplace “—Severus, because he’s so … young. Callow, that’s the word. You have gravitas, Pomona, I’ve always said so.”

“You might take the chance to put young Smith in his place,” Flitwick added.

“I will happily offer a stipend of five hundred Galleons for a seven-week course, two sections, with four evening seminars per week,” Dumbledore said, clinching the deal.

And so, after a winter holiday far tenser for some families than others, all four Houses returned to notices tacked up in each common room, stating that the Board of Governors had approved mandatory sex education for Hogwarts fifth-, sixth- and seventh-year students.

“Bit like closing the cage door after the doxy’s flown,” Seamus Finnegan opined to Dean Thomas. Ron Weasley, still pale and shaking from a visit home that was in essence a two-week-long Howler, slammed his trunk lid shut.

“I think it’s a great idea,” said Harry Potter, flushing red when Ron glared at him. “I mean, not that I need it. Not that I’m having – I’m not even with – you know what, I’ll just shut up now. I wonder if Hermione’s back yet.”

“Why don’t you go have a look,” Ron said, omitting the question mark.

“Yeah, think I will,” Harry muttered, and made his escape.

“I think it’s an absolutely brilliant idea,” Hermione said at dinner that evening.

She’d arrived earlier than the boys, found her letter, and checked three books on wizarding sexual practices out of the Restricted Section before dinner.

“For one thing, why are all the books on reproductive health shelved in the Restricted Section? Everyone needs access to this information, Harry. Just look at Ronald.”

Harry didn’t want to. Ron’s appetite was right off, likely due to the empathy charm Pansy had employed in order to share the experience of morning sickness, and he resembled a plague victim. At the moment he was reaching out to serve himself some miniature sausages, getting the spoon halfway to his plate, and gagging audibly before spilling them all over his lap.

“For another … well, the issue of consent in the Wizarding World is problematic at best.”

“What do you mean?”

She bit her lower lip. “Polyjuice Potion, Amortentia and the lesser love potions, Confundus, Imperius, even Felix Felicis. There are so many ways to muddy the waters, from outright rape to trickery to magical suggestion. Honestly, from a Muggle-born’s perspective, it’s very frightening.”

An instant later, Harry realized that a fanatical gleam had appeared in his best friend’s eyes. Combined with the lip-biting, the stack of books crowding her plate, and the bushy hair festooned with library cobwebs, she appeared to have reached peak Hermione.

“Harry – they’re all Purebloods, aren’t they? Ron, Pansy, Zach Smith, and the Huxley girl. Do they even know about birth control?”

“How would I know?”

“Well, what do people do in the wizarding world? It’s nothing so simple as a Contraceptive Charm – I looked it up, and all the experts agree that a sperm-blocking or egg-repressing charm or hex just isn’t safe to use on a regular basis, not to mention the painful side effects that one in ten persons will experience, and besides, the slight risk of sterility has long caused all of the Pureblood families to shun any sort of magic directly related to sexual activity.”

“They don’t use any magic during sex?” This seemed a real waste.

“Well …” Hermione glanced down at her stack of books. “Some spells can be quite enjoyable, according to Fisker’s Frisky Charms, Fifty Shades of Grey Magic, and A Modern Wand’s Guide to the Boudoir, but most of them are ordinary charms applied creatively. For example, a Weightless Charm applied to one’s partner allows for all sorts of different positions, while the variations on Knot-Tying Charms combined with Incarcerous –”

“Can we talk about this later?” Harry interrupted.

“Oh,” Hermione said, looking around to see half the Gryffindor table sitting with their mouths open. Dennis Creevey appeared to be taking notes. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. It’s just a very interesting subject, that’s all.”

At that moment, Dumbledore stood to announce that the first seminar of sex education for fifth-years and up would commence on Tuesday evening in the History of Magic classroom.

“Binns isn’t teaching the seminar, is he?” Hermione said, alarmed.

“Professor Sprout will require your undivided attention during the full seven weeks of this most important course of education,” Dumbledore continued, beaming like a halogen lamp. “All students will attend seminars twice weekly. Sixth- and seventh-years are assigned to the Tuesday-Thursday section, and fifth-years will attend on Wednesday-Friday. The course will be held in Professor Binns’ classroom with his kind permission, and History of Magic will be canceled every Thursday and Friday for those students in attendance. Any student missing a seminar will be required to attend History of Magic with the fourth-years for the remainder of the seven-week period, in addition to attending all remaining seminars and turning in completed assignments.”

“We’re getting homework in Sex Ed?!” 

“Sounds pretty great to me,” Seamus leered. Dean punched his arm.

“—to impress upon you all the seriousness of this subject,” Dumbledore was saying. “As a reminder, Professor Sprout will be referring all matters of discipline to myself and, as special consultant, Professor Snape.”

Snape looked so sour at this announcement that even Harry guessed (correctly) at Dumbledore’s failure to consult him re his position as special consultant.

“Should Professor Sprout choose not to continue teaching for any reason,” Dumbledore concluded, “another teacher will be asked to step in, and so on.”

“Why would he say that?” Harry asked Hermione in an undertone.

“I think so we all know there’s no point trying to get out of it,” she replied. “Or else it’s meant to scare the other teachers. If Sprout decides to quit, it’s one of their heads on the chopping block, so it’s in their best interests to ensure that students behave themselves. I predict that we’ll see strict punishments for anyone who puts a toe out of line.”

“But why would she decide to quit? It’s seven weeks, for god’s sake.”

But Hermione only looked thoughtful, and did not reply. Back in the common room, just before saying goodnight, she murmured: “I wonder why they’ve never offered sex education before? Or perhaps they did at one time and it was discontinued.” 

Harry couldn’t tell whether she was responding to his question, or just off wandering inside her own head.

***

“Never again,” Sprout declared.

“But my dear Pomona, it has been four days! Give it one more week, I beg you, and if you still feel the same –”

Professor Sprout made a suggestion as to where Dumbledore could place his five hundred Galleons for safekeeping during the cold Scottish winter, and a further suggestion on how to unearth them in the spring.

“One week,” Snape murmured. “Pay up, all of you.”

There was a series of muted clinks as McGonagall, Flitwick, Hooch, and Pomfrey conceded their wagers to the Potions Master, who made a show of raking them in.

Albus Dumbledore’s eyes fell on the openly gloating Slytherin.

“I had hoped to delay your appointment, Severus,” Dumbledore said. “But unless we have a volunteer …”

“I find myself very interested to hear Pomona’s story,” Lupin said mildly. “I owe Severus for all his time spent brewing on my behalf. I don’t mind taking on the course, but I’d like to know what I’m in for.”

Professor Sprout turned to him, and her eyes were haunted. “Hermione Granger,” she said.

“I know Hermione, yes,” Lupin said when no more was forthcoming. 

“If it were just Miss Granger,” Sprout went on, “perhaps I could have borne the incessant questions, the vocabulary I myself had to look up on the Scarlet Shelf in the Restricted Section, and even the subtle corrections to my teaching style. But it is not just Miss Granger. It’s Draco Malfoy sniggering every time I say ‘fallopian,’ repeated queries on premature ejaculation from the fifth-years in every section, Miss Brown and Miss Patil giggling so hard I had to Silence them both, and Ernest Macmillan stammering the word ‘clitoris’ into six syllables. It’s the Weasley boy breaking down in tears at the merest mention of birth control, Miss Parkinson complaining of varicose veins, and both Creeveys vomiting all over the floor – in separate seminars, mind you! – during our introduction to sexually transmitted magical afflictions. In short, it has been four days, and it feels like a bloody lifetime. I’m out, Albus.”

A short silence followed. Finally, Lupin shrugged.

“Beats being broke and homeless,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll take over for Pomona next week.”

***

“I know, from my maiden voyage as a Hogwarts instructor four years ago, that you all are familiar with Boggarts,” Lupin said, opening Tuesday’s seminar with his usual pleasant manner. “A few of you may have encountered the deadly Inverted Boggart in your reading. I am pleased to announce that during the weekend, I was able to procure a specimen of the rarest and most harmless variety of this fascinating creature: the Oedipal Boggart.”

Hermione considered raising her hand, but opted for a look of stunned apprehension to match those of her classmates.

“You will not have heard of an Oedipal Boggart,” Lupin continued, “for the simple reason that they’re very rare and often hard to identify. Most people, upon encountering one, believe themselves to be hallucinating or dreaming. Often all they see is quite literally the reenactment of a familiar dream or nightmare. The Oedipal Boggart reflects our worst fears, but only those related to our own sexuality – often something that we both fear and deeply desire. It is a coveted creature in specialized therapies, and St. Mungo’s very generously lent me theirs for this lesson. And by ‘lent,’ I mean ‘rented for a sizeable bribe.’”

“You’re asking us to face our worst sexual fears in front of our classmates?” asked Padma Patil.

“Dear me, no,” Lupin said, smiling. “I imagine that would be traumatic for all involved. I have set up a secure space for you to view the Oedipal Boggart, separated by protective curtains and spell-reinforced glass. It cannot harm you, nor can you harm it. If you ever encounter one in the wild, the only defence is to run away and shove the experience deep down into your subconscious, where it certainly won’t cause you paralyzing heartache for the rest of your life.”

The class nodded.

“This exercise is for the purposes of self-reflection only, and will help me to direct the remainder of the course,” Lupin said. “I have set up a recording spell that will show me the Boggart, but not the person viewing it. In this way, you are guaranteed anonymity while I am given some idea of your concerns related to sexuality. Any questions?”

Although Hermione kept her hand down, her mind was working furiously. 

“Then, if we have no questions, I’ll need –”

“I’ll go first, sir!”

“Very well, Miss Granger. While one person views the Boggart, the rest of the class can get started on Wear Protection: Defend Yourself Against Sex Hexes and Genital Jinxes. Your assignment is twelve inches on the specialized shield charms discussed in the first two chapters.”

The Oedipal Boggart’s viewing area looked eerily like the glass-fronted rooms of De Wallen in Amsterdam. Hermione was creeped out by the plush red curtains, and felt even more unsettled as they drew back, revealing a rotating round platform.

On the platform stood two figures: one with an untamed mane of wild curls and dark red lipstick, dressed simply in a Gryffindor school uniform with the non-regulation additions of towering boots, a silver Colombina mask and a green leather riding crop.

The second figure took her longer to place. The hair was a dead giveaway, but her rational mind seemed to reject what she was seeing, forcing her imagination to engage the manual override.

On his knees before Dominatrix Hermione was Draco Malfoy. He was dressed in Muggle clothes, she assumed as a humiliation for him and a point of fierce arousal for her. The juxtaposition of herself, now stroking his cheek with the riding crop, and Malfoy, in what appeared to be calfskin Oxfords and a masterwork of Savile Row tailoring in charcoal gray, was undeniably … affecting.

Then Dom Hermione struck.

The crop wasn’t just for show. Each lash appeared to Vanish an item of clothing, starting with his jacket. The first strike after his shirt vanished saw him groveling at her feet, the faintest red blush rising on the milk-white skin of his back, just as his trousers disappeared. 

When he was down to his tie (charcoal and Slytherin green), Sex Boggart Draco rose and took Dom Hermione’s hand. Hermione watched as her doppelganger kissed her onetime tormentor, lipstick gleaming, and one of his hands plunged into her hair as the other rose, stroking reverently along the firm outer curve of her breast, fingertips plucking and teasing as his mouth expertly –

“Hermione, are you doing all right?” Lupin called.

He’s recording all this! Hermione thought, panicking, and tried to brute-force another fear through the glass. Sex Boggart Draco and Dom Hermione paused, seemingly confused, but then Draco popped out of existence and the riding crop morphed into a book. Dom Hermione opened the book, and as her lovely face contorted in abject horror, Real Hermione read aloud the title: “Abstinence is the Only Way! A Book on Purity and Nothing Else.”

Louder, she called: “Fine, Professor! This is very enlightening and there’s nothing wrong!”

Her distraction gave the Boggart room to resist. The book shifted back into Draco, and as he knelt to kiss (lick?) Dominatrix Hermione’s boots, Real Hermione fled.

***

“Next in line is Mr. Malfoy,” Lupin called. He was down to the last few students. Reactions had ranged from Hermione’s pale and thoughtful quietude to Finnegan and Thomas’s triumphant chest-bump to the Smith boy’s attempt to launch himself through a window. He’d been a little worried about Harry, but whatever the Oedipal Boggart revealed didn’t seem to come as a shock. He was sitting with Hermione and had already started the assignment.

Perhaps he should have led up to the Boggart, Lupin considered. After all, even though most of the sixth- and seventh-years were legally adults – 

An agonized shriek ripped through the classroom. Lupin stood so quickly his chair toppled back, cracking on the stone flags.

“Who –” was all he had time get out before Ginny Weasley blundered out of the viewing area. Her eyes were wild and unseeing, ringed white like a spooked horse’s. When her brother snapped out of his stupor and ran to her, he made it three steps before bouncing off what appeared to be a wandless, silent Shield Charm.

“Miss Weasley!” Lupin called, drawing his wand. “Ginny, be calm, you’re in a safe –”

She turned and hissed loudly, and as Harry yelled and the Goyle boy fainted right off his chair, Lupin realized she was cursing him in Parseltongue.

***

“Then she blasted me off my feet right through the blackboard, and in conclusion, I quit,” Lupin finished. “Someone else can teach the bloody seminar. I still have to review the Oedipal Boggart’s findings, and I’ll be happy to draw up a report for the next poor bastard.”

There was a moment of silence. The faculty was crowded around Lupin’s bed in the hospital wing, where Madame Pomfrey had confined him after removing more than three hundred shards of slate, many still chalked, from his lower back and buttocks.

“Headmaster, is Miss Weasley – is Tom Riddle not completely gone?”

“He is gone, Minerva,” Dumbledore said. “Whatever Miss Weasley saw was only a memory. Perhaps an echo anchored deep in her psyche, undiscoverable by any but an Oedipal Boggart. We should have foreseen this possibility, Remus. Any student with genuine trauma, even trauma only vaguely related to attraction, would experience a similar anguish.”

Snape looked ill. “Are you saying the Dark Lord violated Ginevra Weasley?”

“Did he even have – erm, sexual organs?” Flitwick asked, flinching at Snape’s glare.

“Perhaps some teeny-weeny hemipenes,” Minerva muttered, causing Hagrid to snort.

“Voldemort never physically assaulted Miss Weasley, but he gained access to her mind during her first year,” Dumbledore said. “She was eleven, interested in young Harry, just on the precipice of puberty. He may have told her things of an explicit nature, or inflicted emotions upon her as a method of manipulation.” 

“I had no idea,” Lupin said hoarsely. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“I apologize most sincerely, Remus,” Dumbledore said. “Had I known that you planned to have each student face an Oedipal Boggart alone, I certainly would have enlightened you.”

Snape’s expression flickered from nausea to delight at Lupin’s being set down, before reverting to slightly bored. This gamut of emotion ran less than two seconds.

“Moving on to the issue at hand,” the Headmaster continued, “in order that our Defence professor can get some much-needed rest and I can be assured that our Board of Governors-mandated sexual education seminar continues apace, do I have any volunteers to take over as of tomorrow?”

He nodded, unsurprised, when no one stepped forward. “Very well. Sorting Hat, if you would?”

“This is so bloody undignified,” the Hat grumbled. 

“I need everyone to draw a slip of paper,” Dumbledore said, handing round the Hat, which giggled uncontrollably whenever anyone withdrew their slip. “Yes, even you, Pomona. Very good … now unfold them.”

Everyone did so. McGonagall and Sprout opened theirs at the same time, and both beamed and laughed, turning around and holding their slips of paper above their heads. Someone unfolded Hagrid’s slip for him.

“Trollbugger,” Hooch muttered.

“Rolanda’s got the black spot,” Snape announced.

“Madame Hooch,” Albus said, smiling genially. “Please meet with Remus tomorrow after your session with the fifth-years to discuss the Boggart’s findings.” He handed her the magically expanding binder that housed the syllabus and suggestions for lesson plans. “Good luck, my dear, and thank you for your service.”

***

“So why are we out here again?”

“Madame Hooch doesn’t teach in a classroom,” Hermione said in an undertone. “She has terrible claustrophobia.”

“WHAT?”

“It’s nothing bad, Ron,” she said, exasperated. “It just means fear of small or enclosed spaces. She dislikes staying in the castle for too long, especially in a room full of students.”

“—and these hardy little chaps,” Rolanda Hooch continued, waving her wand to send a small army of Bludgers hurtling toward a hovering Quaffle, “fertilize the egg, hurling themselves against it and secreting enzymes until one of them breaks through the outer defences. Any questions so far?”

“It sounds disgusting,” said Daphne Greengrass. Pansy Parkinson, sitting next to her, looked slightly shocked as well.

“It’s not at all romantic,” agreed Lavender Brown.

“Bit like rugger,” said Dean Thomas. “Except the game ends when one man scores.” Seamus high-fived him.

“People aren’t magical creatures,” observed Luna Lovegood. “Beasts and beings are much more wildly imaginative. The luminescent spore dance of the swamp cabbage-rabbit is one of the most beautifully erotic scenes in magical nature.”

“Thank you very much, David Attenborough,” muttered Jillian Frisch, a muggle-born sixth-year. Neville and Ginny both spared her an icy look.

“And the mating ritual of lethifolds in their natural habitat is said to be among the most astonishing sights witnessed by magical naturalists,” Luna went on, unfazed. “Of course, this is based on partial notes, as the naturalists were consumed immediately following the ritual, rather like sandwiches or ice cream straight from the carton after human copulation –”

“That will do, Miss Lovegood,” Hooch said. 

“—although I’ve always enjoyed sushi or sashimi, myself, so long as it’s fresh, or else blueberry pancakes if you’ve been at it all night,” Luna finished, still unfazed.

“I’m so glad we’re learning this,” Draco Malfoy muttered. 

“Shut it, Malfoy,” Harry and Hermione snapped in unison. 

“So if sperm are Bludgers, and the ovum is the Quaffle,” Theo Nott drawled, “where’s the Golden Snitch?”

Hooch beamed unexpectedly and said: “I’m so glad someone thought to ask. Five points to Slytherin. What have you lot already learned about the clitoris?”

***

“Easy as pie,” Madame Hooch announced on Friday evening. “Don’t know what all the fuss is about. Get them out in the fresh air, answer their questions without too much foofaraw, and there you have it. Five hundred Galleons never goes amiss.”

“We all cheer your success, my dear,” Dumbledore said. “If you’d care to stop by this evening and review Professor Lupin’s records of Tuesday’s Boggart, I gave him leave to place them in my Pensieve. I believe he also took written notes.”

“Sorry, Dumbledore, slipped my mind,” Hooch replied. “I’ll get on that first thing after dinner.”

***

From Remus J. Lupin’s notebook, marked “Oedipal Boggart Forms: Hogwarts, 6th- and 7th-Years, January-February 1998”:

\- Boggart took on the form of two rival students. Appeared to portray the fear of either domination or submission, or possibly fear of enjoying the act of domination or submission. May simply show fear of attraction to a partner believed to be unsuitable.

\- Boggart assumed form of Hogwarts Potions Master Severus Snape. Fear manifested as overwhelming attraction to same, brought on by lust potion. (Warning: graphic content)

\- Boggart assumed form of student, face disfigured by acne, kissing a troll. Unclear whether student was also viewer.

\- Boggart assumed form of male student trapped in a glass box, unable to touch female student, who was engaging in coitus with another male student of the same House.

\- Boggart again manifested as Professor Snape brewing Amortentia, with predictable results.

\- Boggart took on the form of an infuriated Veela, mid-transformation (multiple viewers – down to Quidditch Cup incident?).

\- Boggart appeared as multiple students enjoying sexual relations while one student was left out, engaging in depressed self-stimulation (multiple viewers).

\- Boggart assumed the form of two sixth-year students. Clothing on female student suggested male viewer. Fear manifested as female student laughing and walking away. 

\- Boggart took on the form of a male or female student, presumably a friend or rival of the viewer, passionately kissing Harry Potter while another student (presumably the viewer) watches helplessly (multiple viewers).

\- Boggart took on the form of Draco Malfoy or Blaise Zabini (in one instance, both) sneering and ranking the viewer on a 10-point scale (multiple viewers).

\- Boggart took on the form of disappointed parents (multiple viewers).

\- Boggart depicted nonconsensual sex in various forms (multiple viewers, traumatic to watch.)

\- As a subset of the above, Boggart portrayed the effects of Imperius, love potion, or Polyjuice.

\- Boggart manifested as Snape, who ridiculed student’s (viewer’s?) crush and assigned detention with Filch.

\- Boggart manifested as what appeared to be the Great Hall filled stones to rafters with pregnant female students.

\- Boggart appeared as tabloid journalists interrupting student mid-coitus, causing partner to flee. Boggart then took on the form of a spinning Daily Prophet with front-page photo essay and cheerfully obscene headline.

\- Boggart appeared as female student wishing aloud that the viewer was Harry Potter, then stating that “plants are lame.”

\- Boggart manifested as lethifolds performing some sort of dance in a rainforest at night while the viewer attempted to take notes with a quill, only to find herself out of ink.

\- Boggart appeared as a highly attractive woman holding a vial marked POISON.

\- Boggart seemed to represent fear of friction burns from having so much sex (two viewers with identical Boggarts; viewers known to be in a relationship).

\- Boggart manifested as a woman in extremely painful labor, culminating in the birth of Fred and George Weasley (fully grown). Deeply disturbing to witness.

\- Boggart showed two current students, one fifth-year and one seventh-year, taking binding magical wedding vows.

\- Boggart took on the form of an enraged female centaur (reasons unclear).

\- Boggart assumed the appearance of a younger Severus Snape, with much improved teeth, skin, and hygiene, and I want to gouge out my mind’s eye after witnessing the sheer depravity that followed.

\- Boggart took on the form of a dark-haired young man speaking Parseltongue, leaning over the viewer as she slept. The man was subsequently identified as sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle and all student exposure to the Oedipal Boggart was discontinued.

Conclusions: 

1.) Parental disappointment in one’s choice of mate (informed by blood and socioeconomic status) is a common concern that can be addressed as part of the curriculum, stressing autonomy, equality, and the illegality of arranged marriage. 

2.) Fear of other students’ sexual experience exceeding one’s own, being “left out” as other students gain experience, or being rejected by a peer or peers is common. Can be addressed with statistics and/or discussion and reading assignments.

3.) Fear of one’s own sexual interests is also common. Education on the variety of healthy sexual expression may help.

4.) No student’s Oedipal Boggart indicated fear of same-sex relations – wizarding society has a healthier outlook than Muggle in this area, and it seems that by fifth year, muggle-born and half-blood students have taken on the more enlightened position of their wizarding peers.

5.) Fear of control or coercion is another common fear, and the curriculum’s emphasis on self-defence is well-founded.

6.) Pregnant students and their partners may need additional, professional counseling.

7.) For the love of Merlin, Morgana, and all that is holy, if I never see a student rendition of Snape-seduction ever again, it will be too effing soon.

***  
Rolanda Hooch lifted her face from the Pensieve. In the silvery light emanating from the bowl, she looked like a corpse about to vomit.

“I –” she said, and paused. “I quit.”

***

“The Beverage Shield Charm is simple to cast and indispensable for the young witch or wizard on the town,” Flitwick said to a rapt audience. “Simply flick – swish – jab, and the incantation is Praesidio Potum.”

He gave his young charges time to cast, then handed out vials of bright green dye. “Now attempt to introduce a foreign substance into your partner’s drink, and watch what happens!”

“This is really brilliant,” said Harry Potter. “Do you know how many times I’ve had a drink spoiled by someone tipping love potion into it? Right under my nose. They must think I’m really thick.”

Lavender and Parvati burst out laughing.

“That would explain the love potion,” offered Padma Patil, straight-faced. Harry looked both embarrassed and pleased with himself.

“I think it’s brilliant, too,” Hermione said loyally. “I can’t imagine why we don’t learn this in the regular curriculum.”

“Because the oldest families teach it to their children almost before they can walk,” Malfoy chimed in. 

“Huh,” Hermione replied. “Guess I was too busy learning not to be a smarmy failed supremacist who can’t take a punch.”

Malfoy’s eyes widened. “… What did you say to me?”

“I said,” Hermione repeated, more loudly, “that the best families teach you how to be a good person, Malfoy. Why, what did you hear?”

Harry laughed, and even Ron managed a faint guffaw.

“Very funny, Granger,” Malfoy snarled. “Like I couldn’t take you with one arm tied behind my back.”

“Oh you could, could you,” Hermione said, plainly amused.

“Any time and twice on Sundays.”

“Students, let’s please focus on the task at hand,” Flitwick said before slipping in a puddle of dye. “Vanish your spills, please, that’s just basic safety. I’m sure Professor Snape has drilled that into all of you.”

(Elsewhere in the castle, Remus Lupin broke out in hives.)

“Hermione,” Harry said, glancing at Malfoy, “maybe I should walk you up after class.”

“Don’t you have Quidditch practice?”

“Well, yes, but –”

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “It’s only Malfoy.”

***

By the time Hermione changed her mind, Harry and Ron were already out on the pitch. She sighed, reminded herself that she was armed, and climbed the stairs alone.

As she passed in front of poor Barnabas the Barmy, Malfoy whipped around the corner. His grey eyes were blazing, and Hermione reacted instantly.

“Expelliarmus! Incarcerous!” 

His wand flew out of a holster at his wrist an instant before his hands were bound in front of him with – 

“Silk rope, Granger?”

It was red, for some reason – a dark wine-red, looped between his fingers and around his hands. All Hermione could do was stare and feel the blush creeping up her neck.

Malfoy appeared to have run out of words. He stared at his wrists, then tested the rope, which held. With his hands up, he appeared to be praying.

The Room of Requirement door burst into existence, crossed and barred with iron. 

“… Was that you?” 

“Granger,” he replied, “I have no fucking clue.”

“Do you want me to –”

“Yes. Merlin, yes.”

She lifted her wand, but he was already in mid-stride. “Malfoy, if you want me to take it off –”

“Could you be a love and get the door?” He smirked at her over his shoulder. “I don’t mind being your supplicant, Granger, but if you want anything else ...”

Her mind, and sundry other parts, caught up an instant later. “Oh. Yes, I … I’ll get it.”

The hinges creaked and groaned theatrically as the door swung in, revealing a small room rosy with torchlight. There was a bed made up with black silk sheets. Next to it was a small ebony table, and on the table lay a green leather riding crop.

Among other things.

“Tell me what you want,” murmured Draco Malfoy, kicking the door shut behind them. 

Hermione showed him.

***

“What was yours?”

Neville started awake. “Ginny! Hang on, let me get Madame Pomfrey.”

She caught his hand, stunning him to silence. “Tell me, please.”

The infirmary room was dim and calm. Neville had borrowed Harry’s cloak and snuck in just before curfew. A quick Tempus charm showed half-past two.

“Neville,” she said, her low voice trembling. He swore to himself.

“Mine wasn’t important,” he said. “Just – me, being scared. Nothing like yours.”

She laughed. “I should hope not. Mine was awful. Tell me, Neville.”

He’d loved her since his fifth year, since the D.A. and the thrill of fighting Umbridge and her ridiculous Inquisitors, and then the real fight against Death Eaters at the Ministry – the fight that began with the mid-monologue death of Bellatrix Lestrange at Neville’s own wand and ended in the death of Voldemort, hit with Dumbledore’s Killing Curse while possessing Harry’s body. Harry had somehow survived, and while Dumbledore’s explanation was far above Neville’s head (blood protection that saved his life while destroying Voldemort’s mind, leaving his resurrected body an empty shell), it came out that he and Harry had planned the whole thing together.

“I saw you,” he said, making up his mind. “You were, um, with me, but you wished I was Harry.” He paused, watching her face. “And you said plants were lame.”

She met his eyes, and hers (the exact warm tint of his favourite tea) were shining with unshed tears. Neville was horrified at himself until she burst out laughing.

Then he was mortified.

“I would never –” she choked out, and he tried to pull his hand away but she wouldn’t let him. 

“I know, Ginny.” She would never be his. He’d been more miserable, but just at the moment he couldn’t recall when.

“Let me finish, please,” she said. She brought up her other hand, holding on. Her fingers were long and delicate, her palms warm, and he thought helplessly that even her hands were perfect.

“I would never choose Harry over you,” she said. “I had a crush on him when I was a first-year, for Merlin’s sake.”

“But he saved you from V-Voldemort,” Neville said.

She stopped laughing. “I know,” she said. “And I’m so grateful. That was the worst time in my life. I can’t tell you how scary it was, Neville – having him in my head and wanting him there, wanting his approval and friendship, even feeling like – no one would ever understand me like he did. Or want me, or need me, like he did. But it was all a lie. And I owe my life to Harry, but he would remind me of Tom every day, if we were together. It would be like – imagine if Bellatrix had a daughter. Could you ever love her, no matter how wonderful she might be? When she’d remind you of your parents, every time you looked at her?”

Neville blanched.

“I don’t love Harry,” Ginny said. “But I could love you. I think – I’m halfway there, already.” Those eyes met his, and her lovely mouth quirked up in a smile. “And I would never tell you this if Madame Pomfrey hadn’t given me Serenity Potion.”

His heart seemed to burn itself out. “I should go, then,” he said. “So you don’t say anything else you’ll regret in the morning.”

But she still wouldn’t let go of his hand. 

“Nothing I’ve said is untrue,” she murmured. “Neville, I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

“You don’t have to make me feel better, Ginny. I’ll go get Madame Pomfrey.”

She finally lost her patience. 

“Listen, you idiot, I may be serene but I’m not stupid. You will NOT tell me how I feel and then slink away like a sad puppy. I want you, Neville Longbottom. You’re brave, and brilliant, and your forearms make me want to rip your clothes off. Go get Pomfrey if you have to, but this isn’t over, mister, not by a long shot.”

He surged forward and kissed her, pressing her against the infirmary pillows, and when she twined her arms around his neck and kissed him back, he thought he might actually die. 

“Neville,” she sighed in his ear, and he thought that, after all, he’d better live.

***

“Dean,” Seamus said.

Dean rolled over. “What is it, Sea? I was having the best dream …”

“Do you ever worry …”

Dean blinked, trying to wake up enough for a serious discussion. “Do I ever worry – what?”

“Do you ever worry that one day … we’ll shag so hard our dicks will catch fire?”

“All the time,” he said, throwing one arm over Seamus’s bare chest and pulling him close. “But it’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

***

Professor Flitwick lasted an astonishing two and a half weeks.

“He’s not leaving this room for a minimum of four days, Dumbledore,” Madame Pomfrey stated. “Not if he ever wants the chance to father children.”

“I think that ship is long sailed, Pomona,” Filius said, trying to lighten the mood.

“Allow me to speak plainly, Headmaster,” she said. “Professor Flitwick has been hit, simultaneously, with a female genital shield charm, a latex-friendly lubrication charm, and an overpowered pubic depilation charm that took off a layer of skin. The combination has created a wound that I can’t heal without a Stripping Potion to remove the lubricant, which is layered over the shield charm, which is completely covering the wound. The usual version of this potion contains woundwort, which Severus assures me will react poorly with the depilation charm, and in that unhappy event, Professor Flitwick will not only lose another layer of skin but may experience nerve damage. Since it will take Severus three nights to brew an alternate version, Filius will be here for at least another four days. I don’t see what you’re failing to understand, either of you.”

Dumbledore sighed. “So I’ll need a new instructor.” 

“In a nutshell, yes,” Pomfrey replied. “Now leave my patient alone. He’s in enough pain without your fussing.”

“I’ve deposited two hundred Galleons in your Gringotts account, Filius,” the Headmaster said before taking his leave.

“Well, that’s something,” Flitwick replied. “My notes and the curriculum binders are on my desk.”

***

The next day was Thursday, and the sixth- and seventh-years were directed outside.

“Does anyone know what happened to Professor Flitwick?”

All the boys within earshot cringed simultaneously.

“Look, Hermione,” Harry said, trying to distract her. “Is that a Wiggentree?”

“Hello, Hagrid,” Luna called.

“Miss Lovegood,” he replied genially. “You’ll want to sit up nice and close!”

The Wiggentree, a species of magical rowan ideal for wandwood (although this one was greenhouse-grown and still barely more than a sapling), had taken root at the very edge of the Forbidden Forest. Hermione guessed what they were about to see moments before Pansy Parkinson shrieked and pointed.

“What are they doing?!”

Hagrid glanced over the class, making sure everyone was seated and attentive, and then pointed proudly at a green, roiling mass on the Wiggentree’s small branches.

“That there’s a branch o’ Bowtruckles,” Hagrid announced. “Notes said to start off your lesson on pregnancy and birthin’ today, and Bowtruckle husbandry’s a special interest of –” 

“Merlin and Morgana,” Malfoy exclaimed, looking slightly green himself. “I had no idea Bowtruckles were that flexible.”

The mass rustled lasciviously.

“Are those … willow whips?”

“I don’t know, but those are definitely vine ropes.”

“As I were sayin’,” Hagrid interrupted, “since you all have on’y two more weeks ter go, that gives us just enough time to see this season’s crop o’ Bowtruckles. ‘Gestation’ means, er, how many days it takes between what we’re seein’ now and the birth of their young. The young start out as sort o’ pink or purple buds along the females’ limbs, and it’s really quite somethin’ –”

“So the process is nothing like a human pregnancy,” said Hermione. Hagrid looked startled.

“Well, not as such,” he said. “The buds grow out, and after seven days we’ll see ’em start to extrude –”

Theo Nott made a gagging sound.

“Will we be required to witness any other beasts or beings in coitus, labour, or extrusion?”

Hagrid blushed, apparently at the word ‘coitus’ coming from Hermione. “It’s not spring, so there’s not so many in matin’ season at the moment. Just the Thestrals, o’ course, that’ll be a real treat – the whole herd goes through ten sides o’ beef to keep their energy up, and we’ll have to come out at midnight on the full moon and stand well back –”

“Professor,” she said, not ungently but with a clear resolve. “Is there anything about human pregnancy in your lesson plans for the next two weeks?”

Hagrid paused. “… Not as such, no.”

“Right,” Hermione said. She glanced at the writhing Bowtruckles and winced. “I’m out.”

Malfoy straightened instantly. “I’ll escort Miss Granger back to the castle.”

Harry looked as though he’d like to protest, but Hermione slipped her arm through Draco’s and nodded. “Fail us if you need to, Hagrid,” she said kindly. “But I’m not spending two weeks watching animals shag, not even magical ones. And that’s final.”

Malfoy smirked in a so-long-peasants sort of way, and they walked up the hill together. 

***

“In summary,” Snape said, addressing the faculty without meeting anyone’s eye, “we’ve had one teacher ousted by the sheer awkwardness of our idiotic students and their idiotic questions, another muck up his second lesson due to poor planning, one who lost her nerve, and one who’s had the most sensitive skin on his body stripped and plastered over. And now a boycott, led by Miss Granger. As Hagrid informed us, there were three students in attendance during today’s fifth-year seminar.”

“Only two weeks to go,” Minerva said. “And we have a mandate. There’s no choice, except the obvious choice of whom to sacrifice next.”

Snape determinedly did not look at Dumbledore.

“Severus,” the Headmaster said, undeterred. “The students need you. Imagine the ignorance, my dear boy. The lack of knowledge that will dog them all their lives.”

Snape broke out his top-shelf sneer, but Dumbledore wasn’t finished.

“And if your imagination fails you,” he said, eyes twinkling, “think about the potions ingredients you will have licence to order, should you teach this seminar for a mere two weeks. Why, I believe the potion to banish charm-resistant syphilis requires re’em blood, banshee shroudcloth, and the hair of a demiguise. Just think, you’ll have to order them in bulk, and will naturally keep the remainder for use in your own brews. Imagine the potions that would be within your grasp …”

“All right, old man,” Snape said. “Never use a shovel when a trowel will do.”

“Headmaster, I must object.”

As if in a terrible, slow-motion dream, all heads turned toward the myopic figure in the corner.

“I have foreseen it,” Trelawney announced, the foot-long beaded fringe of her shawl swinging and clacking as she stood. “I shall be taking up the mantle.”

***

“Couldn’t have kept your bloody mouth shut,” Ron snapped, glaring at Hermione. “Couldn’t have conjured a sodding blindfold instead of ‘Oh, I simply refuse to watch a bunch of sticks get their ends away,’ and now we’re all stuck with Trelawney telling us what happens when a witch and wizard love each other very much.”

“I liked the bit about auras combining in a passionate swirl,” Luna offered dreamily, pausing in front of a window to enjoy the rare February sun. “It made me think of those candies, you know, the ones with two colors and they look a bit like pinwheels. Sometimes they’re soft candies and sometimes they’re hard and get stuck in your teeth, and I think that’s just like sex.” 

Ron and Harry shuddered at the idea of hard things getting stuck in people’s teeth.

“I don’t know what to say,” Hermione admitted. Her complexion had taken on a greyish tinge, and her hair was unspeakable. Trelawney insisted on burning incense and heating up scented oils, suffusing even Binns’ much larger classroom with the mingled stench of jasmine and patchouli and playing merry hell with everyone’s hygiene. 

“I almost feel sorry for Snape,” Harry muttered, flipping his own lank fringe out of his eyes. “Twenty years of this, no wonder he’s always a –”

“Oh, do finish that sentence, Potter,” Malfoy said from behind them. “Gryffindor’s up by fifteen, this should just about even things up.”

Ron opened his mouth to retort, but Hermione beat him to it.

“Malfoy,” she spat, whirling so quickly that Harry jumped back in surprise. “What was all that, then? ‘Do you believe in soulmates, Professor? How do they work?’ ‘Professor, look, there’s a heart in my tea-leaves!’ ‘How do you know when you’ve fallen in love and it’s not just a fantastic shag?’”

“Why in Circe’s –” Draco cut himself off, with some effort. More calmly, and with a suspicious glance at an oddly silent Luna, he continued: “Granger, why do you care? It got her talking, didn’t it, and got us well away from the subject of her experiences with Grecian centaurs as an apprentice Seer.”

“It was a little weird, mate,” Harry agreed. “Sounded like you were propositioning her. She certainly thought so. I’d be surprised if her bags aren’t already packed.”

Draco somehow got even paler. “You’re taking the piss.”

“Merlin forbid,” Ron said, looking cheerier than anyone had seen him in months. “You didn’t notice?”

“Dra – Malfoy, I certainly hope you’re off to the library to work on our Charms project,” Hermione said bossily, prompting Ron and Harry to roll their eyes. “If one of us underperforms and misses an O, I’m holding you personally responsible! I was revising for hours last night, and if you think for one second that you can get away with less effort –”

“I swear, Granger, sometimes I think you live to torment me. Yes, I’m on my way to the library.” Draco’s eyes gleamed like sly quicksilver. “And who’s skiving off, then? You’re going outside, aren’t you, while I get right to work inventing a series of highly effective cleaning charms. Hope you remember this when I’m accepting my Noble Prize in domestic economics.”

“It’s Nobel Prize, Malfoy –”

“Shut up, Potter, your ignorance is showing,” he snapped back. “The Noble Prizes, traditionally hosted in Reykjavik, include a five-hundred-Galleon honorarium, which most winners pass along to a worthy cause. I look forward to humbly donating mine to the Ministry’s House Elf Assistance Liaison. And in my acceptance speech, I won’t mention my lazy lab partner, Hermione Granger, who went outside on a sunny, sub-zero day instead of striving toward a better life for the historically oppressed.”

Hermione turned to her friends. “I’ll be in the library. Don’t wait up.” She strode off ahead of Malfoy, and he hurried to follow.

“Are the Noble Prizes real?” Harry asked doubtfully.

“Never heard of them,” Ron said. “Wouldn’t want to be Malfoy when Hermione finds out. She’ll kick his arse.”

“I doubt that,” Luna said, still basking in her patch of sunlight. “Whip, maybe.”

“Ha-ha, yeah,” Ron agreed. “Poor sorry sod.”

***

“WHERE IS HE?”

“Madame Bones, if you’ll just wait here by the gargoyle –”

“DON’T YOU ‘MADAME BONES’ ME, MINERVA MCGONAGALL!”

A patter of running footsteps heralded Minerva, who burst into the Headmaster’s office with her hair on end and teeth bared, looking very much like her Animagus form. Albus finished refilling his sherbet lemon tin from a vast canister and turned calmly to his Deputy Headmistress.

“Headmaster!” she gasped. “Amelia Bones – here to see you!”

“Yes, I gathered as much. Minerva, do you have an inkling of what might have upset her so? I estimate we have less than five seconds, so do be quick.”

“That moronic Sybill Trelawney –”

“That crazy old bat called my Susan ‘a promiscuous jezebel’ after her tea-leaves spelt out ‘SLUT,’” said Amelia Bones. Her deathly calm was, by a factor of ten, more terrifying than her outraged yell. “Apparently the children are hexing each other’s teacups, claiming to see pornographic visions in their crystal balls, and generally misbehaving without any semblance of control from that so-called professor. I hesitate even to repeat what happened during haruspicy.”

“She’s reading animal entrails during sex ed?” Minerva said, somehow both unsurprised and disbelieving.

“I want her gone, Dumbledore,” Bones ordered. “If you won’t fire her outright, I insist that she cease teaching sexual education. Susan was utterly humiliated and Sprout’s on the warpath.”

“I appreciate the warning, Amelia,” Dumbledore said. “It’s a foolish animal that fights a badger.”

“And a foolish Headmaster who goes against the Director of Magical Law Enforcement,” Minerva muttered.

“I trust that, in your opinion, even a very strict instructor would be preferable to poor Sybill.” The Headmaster’s habitual twinkle became more of a shrewd gleam.

“Yes, of course!”

“And that even if she disliked this alternate teacher, Susan could endure for another, hmm, three seminars without complaint,” Dumbledore continued. 

“So long as it’s not Trelawney, Albus.”

“Very well. Minerva, please inform Severus that his presence is required. Immediately.”

“… I’ll summon a House Elf.”

***

The incense was gone, and good riddance. 

A series of aggressive Air-Freshening Charms had done for it. Heavy curtains blocked out the sunlight, and blazing torches cast dramatic shadows over the desks. Paintings, medical illustrations, and a few wizarding photographs had been fixed along the walls, beginning at the door and curving round to the dais.

“What’s that?” Gregory Goyle asked fearfully, pointing at one of the more lurid colour depictions of wizarding STDs.

“It’s nothing, Greg,” Draco Malfoy said in a soothing voice. He paused to preen at Hermione’s approving glance. “Just a medical plate. Looks like Pocket Dragon Pox, going by the suppurating spots.”

“And what’s that one?”

“That’s a woman in hospital, Greg – wait, it looks like they’re lifting her – dear Merlin, what’s that bloody thing between her legs?!”

“I am never having children,” Ginny said fervently. Beside her, Luna was wincing in sympathy.

“I appreciate this one over here,” Theo Nott chimed in. “All the possible magical relationships in one handy chart. I didn’t know we could breed with centaurs, did you?”

“Yeah, I knew,” muttered Vincent Crabbe. “But proposition one female …”

“Is that why you’re scared of horses, Vince?”

“You’d be scared, too, if you took a kick to the chest,” Crabbe replied. “Old Pomfrey said I was lucky to be alive. What a woman, though! Sugarbane, I mean. Not Pomfrey.”

“This one’s not appropriate for school,” Harry announced. “Don’t you agree, Hermione?”

“Oh my, well, it certainly is detailed … Draco, take a look at this.”

“Since when do you call Malfoy ‘Draco,’ Hermione?” Ron snapped, glancing away from Pansy for two seconds. She was now in her fifth month, and her burgeoning bosom had riveted his attention for the past week.

“Since I started dating him several weeks ago, Ronald.”

Ron choked on air as Draco smirked.

“You bastard! What did you do to her? Amortentia? I swear if you’ve Imperiused her, I’ll make you eat your own –”

“Ten points from Gryffindor for unfounded accusations, Mr. Weasley,” came Snape’s languorous drawl. “And ten more for your habitual ignorance. Take your seats.”

The class obeyed instantly.

“We have a total of nine hours to amend your lamentable lack of preparation in the area of human sexuality,” Snape said. “Any wasted minute will be made up a hundredfold in detention, am I perfectly clear?”

“Yes, sir,” the sixth- and seventh-years answered in unison.

“Very well.” He waved his wand at the board, and the words HEALTHY RELATIONSHIPS appeared in yellow chalk.

“You can learn about sex from a book, as Miss Granger undoubtedly has.”

Rather than looking offended, Hermione simply exchanged dopey smiles with Draco.

“You can learn technique by practising with a willing partner, paying for lessons with a Knockturn Alley professional, or simply increasing your self-knowledge. All of this is none of my concern.”

“Damn right,” Dean whispered to Seamus.

“What is my concern, Mr. Thomas, is that all of you hormonal cretins learn how to treat each other with respect and consideration. Men and women who are unable to form strong relationships will serve as piss-poor role models and caretakers for the next generation of witches and wizards. As a Hogwarts professor who has not yet reached middle age – five points from Hufflepuff for that flattering reaction, Mr. Smith – I have a vested interest in this future generation, which I hope and pray will be marginally less dunderheaded than yourselves.”

Harry squinted at Snape as though checking for Polyjuice. Luna looked approving. Hermione and Draco were still eyeing each other across the aisle, and a small fire was beginning to smoulder along the edge of Hermione’s parchment.

“We will start with a thorough review of consent, including circumstances in which your partner is impaired by alcohol, Confundus, or love potion. Open your books to chapter four.”

***

“… Self-stimulation is an important part of healthy sexuality, nothing to be ashamed of, but also nothing to inflict upon innocent people without their full and enthusiastic consent. Hence the old saying: ‘Privacy Charms make good neighbours.’ As for any sexual activity that is not a solo endeavour: If your partner is not enjoying herself, or himself, it is absolutely essential that you stop and confirm consent. A simple ‘Do you like this?’ or ‘Is this all right?’ will suffice.”

“… As we can all clearly see from this illustration – Miss Parkinson, one more squeak from you will cost your House twenty points – proper application includes gentle pressure between finger and thumb to remove air from the reservoir tip and NEVER includes the donning of more than one condom, due to friction and an increased risk of breakage. Contraceptive potions are as effective as the Muggle pill, and accidents have been known to happen; therefore, a potion plus a barrier method, such as a condom or spermicide, is strongly recommended. A potion by itself cannot protect you from sexually transmitted diseases, magical or otherwise. As we see in this medical plate, taken from a case study at St. Mungo’s, a witch or wizard can contract both Muggle herpes and Wizarding syphilis simultaneously, with predictably horrific results … no, Mr. Goyle, you may not go to the infirmary, nor am I wasting an Anti-Emetic Potion on your squeamishness.”

“.. As last week’s reading touched upon, someone who makes you feel ashamed of some aspect of sex that you enjoy, or conversely someone who forces you to do something you don’t like, whether through violence, shame, intimidation, guilting, or some other form of control, is someone who deserves none of your time and attention. A minor curse or two might give them something more pressing to think about. I am not endorsing its use, but I understand that the Torsion Hex on page three hundred and ninety-four achieves a satisfying though non-permanent result when applied to certain body parts …”

“… Virtually no one marries their first sexual partner. There are exceptions, especially among wizards and witches of ancient family, but for the most part, you’re all experimenting. Even if you’re – supposedly – in love, you’re still learning exactly what that means. This is right and healthy, with the proper precautions. What isn’t healthy is assuming you’ll end up married to your soulmate whom you met at age eleven. There are many, many other wizarding communities, and Hogwarts is not the world.”

“In conclusion: For the love of Nimue, don’t assume you’ll marry anyone from high school. Unless you’ve gone and got them up the duff. Then you’re required to marry, or else bring the rankest shame and dishonour upon your family name. That means you, Smith. 

“Seminar dismissed.”

***

“Who would have thought Snape – Snape! – would be the best sex educator at Hogwarts,” Hermione mused, tapping her favourite crop on one long, stocking-clad thigh. “Perhaps it just took our undivided attention to bring out his good side.”

“I don’t know,” Draco said, sounding somewhat muffled in his current position. “Personally, I think the werewolf did a bang-up job.”

**Author's Note:**

> Several references to various fanfics (and one famous short story) are sprinkled throughout. (Note: I finally reread the fic that inspired this story - see earlier author notes, and check out BrilliantLady's work if you haven't already!) I hope you've enjoyed reading, and your kudos and reviews always make my day.


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